divided we fall
by izadreamer
Summary: After a deadly battle with the Knights of Hanoi, Ignis and Yusaku learn of the connection between them: that Ignis is the manifestation of Yusaku's lost memories and self. This is the aftermath.


_Note: Based on the AI-Soul theory, with Ignis as Yusaku's counterpart. Credit to the creator of said theory, though regrettably I do not know who that is._

* * *

 _divided we fall_

The virtual world of LINK VRAINS blurs away, dissolves into the air in bits and pieces, and when Yusaku opens his eyes he's back in the small cramped closet he'd converted into a system access for the virtual world. His hand presses against icy metal, fingers catching on edges and slipping over stray wires. The cold makes his fingers tingle, sends an involuntary shudder down his spine. Man-made, all of it, but solid and real in a way the virtual world can't mimic, for all SOL Technology tries.

He's awake. He's alive. He's back in the real world.

He's going to throw up.

Yusaku pushes away from the wall. The world spins, blurring at the edges—but it doesn't matter, not really, and he slams his palm hard against the switch, half-aware of the hidden door sliding open. He curls shaking fingers around the frame, stumbling over his feet in his haste to escape the room, socks slipping on the newly cleaned floors. His ears are ringing. His eyes are burning. He sucks in breath after breath, air whistling through his teeth, but no matter how hard he tries Yusaku still feels like he's drowning.

The hall is long and dark, the light bulbs long since burned out and never replaced. Every step feels like one too many, his destination so far away despite how close it is in reality. His hands fit around the bathroom doorknob, knuckles white and fingers trembling. It's desperation alone that gives him the strength to push against the door, desperation and the taste of sour bile climbing up his throat.

The door gives way easily, and Yusaku pitches forward, his shoulder slamming into the doorframe of his bathroom. He almost tumbles face first onto the ground, catching himself to fall hard on his knees instead. He sits there, momentarily stunned, pain radiating up his legs. He's breathing hard now, harsh and cold, hands digging into his chest, swallowing hard against the burning in his throat but he can't—he can't—

He hunches over and vomits on the chipped tile. It tastes like hotdog and acid, and Yusaku coughs, throat on fire, feeling weak and dizzy. Throws up again, and claps a hand over his mouth when the smell reaches him. Tears prick the corners of his eyes.

He throws himself back, scrambling to get away—furious at his weakness, hating how the tears are blurring his vision into a mess of color, how he can still taste the bile in the back of throat. He wants to scream. He wants to cry.

His back hits the wall, and he pulls up his knees to hide his face. His fingers are yanking at his hair, breaths hot and sickly against the fabric of his trousers in his effort to keep control. Even with eyes closed, the world spins. His head is pounding, ears roaring with the rush of his blood. His heartbeat is as erratic as his breathing.

— **saku! Yusaku!**

The words filter through like static, faint and far away, pitched high in worry. He doesn't want their concern. Of all the people he knows, all the friends he's made, the voice belongs to the one person Yusaku doesn't want to deal with right now.

 **Yusaku!**

"Shut up!" he snarls back, the words low and hoarse as if he'd been screaming. He hasn't. Has he? "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

 **They'll come back! We have to be—**

"I said shut up, Ignis!"

For the first time in Yusaku's memory, Ignis quiets at the words. His silence is just as heavy though, as solid and real as the device strapped to Yusaku's wrist. The strap of Yusaku's duel disk burns against his skin, flesh rubbed raw underneath from the constant friction and weight. It's something he'd become so accustomed to, he'd never noticed—he'd felt the pain was worth the risk—

But maybe that's not true either. Maybe Yusaku had always known. After those first few weeks, when Ignis—then Ai—had become more acquaintance than hostage, hadn't that been when it started? It had felt natural to carry the AI around with him, leaving a constant stream of sass and complaints in his wake. It had felt—right.

He's going to be sick again.

 **I didn't know,** Ignis pleads. His voice is quiet, volume lowered, his usual dramatic way of speaking dampened by his emotions. An AI, feeling emotions—really, shouldn't have that been Yusaku's first clue? Ignis had never been just a machine, just as Yusaku had apparently never been just human.

 **I didn't remember,** Ignis says, desperate. **I didn't know. I don't—**

"I don't care," Yusaku rasps. "I don't care—I don't care—Shut up!"

 **Yusaku—**

"Shut up!" Yusaku shrieks, snapping his head up, traitorous tears burning a trail down his grimy cheeks. Ignis's single visible eye is wide and blurry at the edges, as if the AI is trying not to cry—like how Yusaku is—

Disgust roils in his throat, followed by a sudden and swift rage. He's shaking, Yusaku realizes, with a numb calm, shaking from head to toe. It makes it difficult to work his fingers under the straps, but he manages. He rips the leather strap off his wrist, Ignis's voice pitching high in panic—

 **Wait! Wait! Yusaku, don't—**

—but he can't, he can't, and so Yusaku throws his disk as hard and as far away from him as he can manage with his weak and trembling fingers. The edge smacks hard into the far wall, falls with a heavy and final thump. Ignis is wailing.

It's not fair. It's not fair to Ignis, no, but it's not fair to Yusaku either. All this time—his past, who he used to be—he'd been looking for all this time, and they've been there all along. Right beside him.

He'd always thought they were still there. Still a part of him, just—just locked away, that's all, and he needed to do was find the person holding the key. So he could—remember. Unlock them.

He'd never imagined they'd been literally ripped out of him. Torn away, pieces of him chipped off—personality and memories and wants and desires—ripped out of a child Yusaku doesn't remember being and made into—made into—

What is Yusaku, really? Is he even a whole person? Or is he just the leftovers, the remnants, the shadow of the boy he should have been? Was he like Ignis, once? Loud, lively, annoying, but clever—always clever—

But whatever they did to him, to create them—they destroyed that boy, didn't they? They left him with no memories, no personality. Ignis is more real than Yusaku is, and isn't that just ironic?

 **They're going to come back. We need to get up. Yusaku—come on! We need to get up!**

They've been looking for Ignis all this time. Ignis, who is by rights the child Yusaku used to be. Ignis, the key to everything.

How did he never figure it out sooner? Ignis was the important one all along. He was the thief, the outcast no one could catch, the one who grabbed every secret Hanoi and SOL had and fled.

He was the chipped off pieces, the memories Yusaku lost, a half of a soul, broken into two. But Ignis had his blanks filled in with code and numbers, and Yusaku—Yusaku was left to rot. They made Ignis a full being and left Yusaku struggling to pull his fractured pieces together, broken and halved.

 **Yusaku! They're coming! We have to go!**

Ignis is screaming. Down the hall, the door rattles. The low whine of their machines is slowly edging towards a bloodcurdling shriek.

Yusaku hides his face in his knees, hands over his ears, and tries to remember what it was like to be a child.


End file.
